GfieWHH t ROADtoVERDUi 




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THE WHITE ROAD 
TO VERDUN 



BY 

KATHLEEN BURKE 

Knight of St. Sava, Serbia 
Officier de V Instruction Publique, France 




NEW YORK 
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



•3*7 



Copyright, 1916, 
By George H. Doran Company 



& 



DEC 1 1 1916 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



'CI.A453019 



THIS LITTLE BOOK IS 
RESPECTFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
TO 

MADAME JUSSERAND 

Ambassadrice de France & Washington 

AND TO 

MONSIEUR GASTON LIEBERT 

Consul General de France 

DR. C. O. MAILLOUX 

AND TO ALL MY GOOD FRIENDS IN THE 
UNITED STATES AND CANADA, WHOSE 
SYMPATHY AND ENCOURAGEMENT HAVE 
HELPED ME SO MUCH IN MY WORK 

VIVE LA FRANCE 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I The True Philosophers 13 

II The Bridge at Meaux 21 

III Recruiting Rat-Catchers .... 27 

IV A Gun Carriage an Altar .... 37 
V Life Behind the Lines 43 

VI Devotion to Animals 47 

VII Hunting for Generals 53 

VIII An Instance of Quick Wit .... 61 

IX At The Headquarters of General Petain . 69 

X A Meeting with "Forain" .... 77 

XI Value of Women's Work 81 

XII The "Movies" under Fire .... 95 

XIII A Subterranean City 107 

XIV Poilu and Tommy 115 

XV Abbreviated French 123 

XVI The Brown and Black Sons of France . 129 

XVII At General Nivelle's Headquarters . . 139 

XVIII Rheims 147 

XIX At the Headquarters of the Generalissimo 155 

XX To the Glory of the Women of France . 165 



vu 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



Kathleen Burke Frontispiece 

PAGE 

A Bridge Over the Marne Destroyed by the Re- 
treating Germans 22 

The Trench Dog Wearing His Gas-Mask. His 
Wonderful Training Aided by His Natural 
Sagacity Renders Him a Holy Terror to 
Prowling Boches and Spies 28 

The Car in Which I Made the Journey into Verdun 54 

Generals Joffre and Petain at the Latter's Head- 
quarters 70 

A Serbian Refugee Boy 82 

Womanly Tenderness. Patient Undergoing Sun 

and Salt Treatment 86 

Verdun, a White City of Desolation, Scorched and 
Battered, Yet the Brightest Jewel in the 
Crown of France's Glory 90 

We Left the Car and Climbed through the Ruined 

Streets 96 

The Heat in the City Was Excessive But in the 

Trenches It Was Delightfully Cool . . . 102 

No Safe Place to Nest 110 

The Brown and Black Sons of France . . . 130 

The Hospital "King" 142 

Scottish Women Surgeons at Work at the Abbaye 

de royaumont, france 140 

One of the Wards of the Scottish Women's Hos- 
pital, Royaumont 150 

The Kitchen Coach of a French Red Cross Train 158 



THE TRUE PHILOSOPHERS 



THE WHITE ROAD 
TO VERDUN 



THE TRUE PHILOSOPHERS 

We left Paris determined to undertake 
the journey to the Front in the true 
spirit of the French Poilu, and, no mat- 
ter what happened, "de ne pas s'en 
faire/' This famous "motto" of the 
French Army is probably derived from 
one of two slang sentences, de ne pas se 
faire des cheveuw ("to keep one's hair 
on,") or de ne pas se faire de la bile, or, in 
other words, not to upset one's digestion 
by unnecessary worrying. The phrase is 
typical of the mentality of the Poilu, who 
accepts anything and everything that may 

[13] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

happen, whether it be merely slight phys- 
ical discomfort, or intense suffering, as 
part of the willing sacrifice which he made 
on the day that, leaving his homestead 
and his daily occupation, he took up arms 
"offering his body as a shield to defend the 
heart of France." 

Everything might be worse than it is, 
says the Poilu, and so he has composed a 
Litany. Every regiment has a different 
version, but always with the same basis. 

"Of two things one is certain: Either 
you're mobilised or you're not mobilised. 
If you're not mobilised, there is no need 
to worry; if you are mobilised, of two 
things one is certain: Either you're be- 
hind the lines or you're on the Front. If 
you're behind the lines there is no need to 
worry; if you're on the Front, of two 
things one is certain : Either you're resting 
in a safe place or you're exposed to dan- 
ger. If you're resting in a safe place 
there is no need to worry; if you're ex- 
posed to danger, of two things one is cer- 
tain: Either you're wounded or you're not 

[14] 



THE TRUE PHILOSOPHERS 

wounded. If you're not wounded, there 
is no need to worry; if you are wounded, 
of two things one is certain : Either you're 
wounded seriously or you're wounded 
slightly. If you're wounded slightly there 
is no need to worry; if you're wounded 
seriously, of two things one is certain: 
Either you recover or you die. If you 
recover there is no need to worry; if you 
die you can't worry." 

When once past the "Wall of China," 
as the French authorities call the difficult 
approaches to the war zone, Meaux was 
the first town of importance at which we 
stopped. We had an opportunity to sam- 
ple the army bread, as the driver of a pass- 
ing bread wagon flung a large round loaf 
into our motor. 

According to all accounts received from 
the French soldiers who are in the prison 
camps of Germany, one of the greatest 
hardships is the lack of white bread, and 
they have employed various subterfuges in 
the endeavour to let their relatives know 
that they wish to have bread sent to them. 
[15] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

Some of the Bretons writing home nick- 
name bread "Monsieur Barras," and when 
there was a very great shortage they 
would write to their families : " Ce pauvre 
Monsieur Barras ne se porte pas tres bien 
a present/' (M. Barras is not very well 
at present.) Finally the Germans discov- 
ered the real significance of M. Barras and 
they added to one of the letters: ec Si M. 
Barras ne se porte pas tres a present c'est 
bien la faute de vos amis les Anglais/' 
(If M. Barras is not well at present, it 
is the fault of your friends the English.) 
And from then all the letters referring to 
M. Barras were strictly suppressed. 

While the German Press may not be 
above admitting a shortage of food in Ger- 
many, it seriously annoys the Army that 
the French prisoners or the French in the 
invaded regions should hear of it. I 
heard one story of the wife of a French 
officer in Lille, who was obliged to offer 
unwilling hospitality to a German Cap- 
tain, who, in a somewhat clumsy en- 
deavour to be amiable, offered to try to 

[16] 



THE TRUE PHILOSOPHERS 

get news of her husband and to convey it 
to her. Appreciating the seeming friend- 
liness of the Captain, she confided to him 
that she had means of communicating with 
her husband who was on the French 
Front. The Captain informed against 
her and the next day she was sent for by 
the Kommandantur, who imposed a fine of 
fifty francs upon her for having received 
a letter from the enemy lines. Taking a 
one hundred franc note from her bag she 
placed it on the desk, saying, "M. le Kom- 
mandantur, here is the fifty francs fine, 
and also another fifty francs which I am 
t glad to subscribe for the starving women 
an' 1 children in Berlin." "No one starves 
in Berlin," replied the Kommandantur. 
"Oh, yes, they do," replied Madame X., 
"I know because the Captain who so 
kindly informed you that I had received a 
letter from my husband showed me a let- 
ter the other day from his wife in which 
she spoke of the sad condition of the wom- 
en and children of Germany, who, whilst 
not starving, were far from happy." Thus 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

she not only had the pleasure of seriously 
annoying the Kommandantur, but also 
had a chance to get even with the Captain 
who had informed against her, and who is 
no longer in soft quarters in Lille, but 
paying the penalty of his indiscretion by 
a sojourn on the Yser. 



[18] 



THE BRIDGE AT MEAUX 



II 



THE BRIDGE AT MEAUX 

The Bridge at Meaux, destroyed in 
the course of the German retreat, has not 
yet been entirely repaired. Beneath it 
rushes the Marne and the river sings in 
triumph, as it passes, that it is carrying 
away the soil that has been desecrated by 
the steps of the invader, and that day by 
day it is washing clean the land of France. 

In the fields where the corn is standing, 
the tiny crosses marking the last resting 
places of the men are entirely hidden, but 
where the grain has been gathered the 
graves stand out distinctly marked not 
only by a cross, but also by the tall 
bunches of corn which have been left 
growing on these small patches of holy 
ground. It has always been said that 
France has two harvests each year. Cer- 
tainly in the fields of the Marne there is 
[SI] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

not only the harvest of bread ; there is also 
springing up the harvest of security and 
peace. 

The peasants as they point out the 
graves always add: "We of the people 
know that those men sacrificed their lives 
that our children might live. Those who 
have died in vain for an unjust cause may 
well envy the men of France who have 
poured out their blood for the benefit of 
humanity/ ' 

Looking on the crosses on the battle- 
field of the Marne, I realised to the fullest 
extent the sacrifices, borne with such 
bravery, of the women of France. I 
thought of the picture I had seen in Paris 
of a group of mothers standing at the foot 
of Calvary, looking out over the fields of 
small black crosses, lifting their hands to 
Heaven, with the words: "We also, God, 
have given our sons for the peace of the 
world." 

At Montmirail the real activity of the 
war zone first became apparent. We drew 
the car to the side of the road and waited 

[22] 




A BRIDGE OVER THE MARNE DESTROYED 
BY THE RETREATING GERMANS 



THE BRIDGE AT MEAUX 

whilst a long procession of empty muni- 
tion wagons passed on the way back from 
the munition parks near the righting line. 
There was a smile on the face of every one 
of the drivers. Each of them had the sat- 
isfaction of knowing that there was no 
chance of his returning with an empty 
wagon, as there is no lack of provisions to 
feed the hungriest of the "75's" or any of 
her larger sisters. 

The fact that it is known that there is 
an ample supply of munitions plays an im- 
portant part in the "morale" of the troops. 
The average Poilu has no sympathy with 
the man who grumbles at the number of 
hours he may have to spend in the factory. 
We heard the tale of a munition worker 
who was complaining in a cafe at having 
to work so hard. A Poilu who was en 'per- 
mission, and who was sitting at the next 
table, turned to him saying: "You have 
no right to grumble. You receive ten to 
twelve francs a day for making shells and 
we poor devils get five sous a day for stop- 
ping them!" 
[28] 



RECRUITING RAT-CATCHERS 



Ill 

RECRUITING RAT-CATCHERS 

We lunched in the small but hospitable 
village of Sezannes in company with a 
most charming invalided officer, who in- 
formed us that he was the principal in 
that district of the S.D.R. R.D. (Service 
de Recherche des Rattiers) (the Princi- 
pal Recruiting Officer for Rat-Catchers ). 
In other words, he is spending his time 
endeavouring to persuade suitable bow- 
wows to enlist in the service of their 
country. Likely dogs are trained un- 
til they do not bark, and become en- 
tirely accustomed to the sound of firing; 
they are then pronounced "aptes a faire 
campagne" or "fit for service," receive 
their livret militaire, or certificates — for 
not every chance dog is allowed in the 
trenches — and are despatched to the 
trenches on a rat-hunting campaign. 
[27] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

At the commencement of the .War, dogs 
were not utilized to the extent they are 
at present. A large number are now with 
the French Army and the wonderful 
training they have received, aided by their 
natural sagacity, renders them a holy ter- 
ror to prowling boches and spies. Those 
employed in carrying messages or tobacco 
to the soldiers in dangerous trenches now 
wear gas masks, as many of these high 
trained animals have been lost in conse- 
quence of too closely investigating the 
strange odour caused by this Hun war 
method. 

From Sezannes we proceeded direct to 
the new camp for German prisoners at 
Connantre. The prisoners were mostly 
men who had been taken in the recent 
fighting on the Somme or around Verdun. 
The camp was already excellently in- 
stalled and the prisoners were busy in 
groups gardening, making bread, or sit- 
ting before great heaps of potatoes pre- 
paring them for the evening meal. In one 
comer the inevitable German Band was 

[28] 




THE TRENCH DOG WEARING HIS GAS MASK. HIS WONDERFUL 
TRAINING AIDED BY HIS NATURAL SAGACITY RENDERS HIM 
A HOLY TERROR TO PROWLING BOCHES AND SPIES 



- 



RECRUITING RAT-CATCHERS 

preparing for an evening concert. The 
German sense of order was everywhere in 
evidence. In the long barracks where the 
men slept the beds were tidy, and above 
each bed was a small shelf, each shelf ar- 
ranged in exactly the same order, the prin- 
cipal ornaments being a mug, fork and 
spoon ; and just as each bed resembled each 
other bed, so the fork and spoon were 
placed in their respective mugs at exactly 
the same angle. There were small parti- 
tioned apartments for the non-commis- 
sioned officers. 

The French Commander of the camp 
told us that the German love of holding 
some form of office was everywhere ap- 
parent. The French made no attempt to 
command the prisoners themselves, but 
always chose men from amongst the pris- 
oners who were placed in authority over 
their comrades. The prisoners rejoiced 
exceedingly and promptly increased in 
self-importance and, alas, decreased in 
manners, if they were given the smallest 
[29] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

position which raised them above the level 
of the rest of the men. 

In the barrack where they were cutting 
up bread for the prisoners, we asked the 
men if they deeply regretted their cap- 
tivity. They replied unanimously that 
they were "rather glad to be well fed," 
which seemed an answer in itself. They 
did not, however, appreciate the white 
bread, and stated that they preferred their 
own black bread. The French officers 
commanding the camp treat the prisoners 
as naughty children who must be "kept in 
the corner" and punished for their own 
good. In all my travels through France I 
have never seen any bitterness shown 
towards the prisoners. I remember once 
at Nevers we passed a group of German 
prisoners, and amongst them was a 
wounded man who was lying in a small 
cart. A hand bag had fallen across his 
leg, and none of his comrades attempted 
to remove it. A French woman pushing 
her way between the guards, lifted it off 
and gave it to one of the Germans to 

[30] 



RECRUITING RAT-CATCHERS 

carry. When the guards tried to remon- 
strate she replied simply: "J 3 ai un fils 
prisonnier la has, faut esperer qu'une alle- 
mande ferait autant pour hit 33 ( "I have a 
son who is a prisoner in their land; let us 
hope that some German woman would do 
as much for him.") 

On the battlefields the kindness of the 
French medical men to the German 
wounded has always been conspicuous. 
One of my neutral friends passing 
through Germany heard from one of the 
prominent German surgeons that they 
were well aware of this fact, and knew 
that their wounded received every atten- 
tion. There is a story known throughout 
France of a French doctor who was at- 
tending a wounded German on the battle- 
field. The man, who was probably half 
delirious, snatched at a revolver which was 
lying near by and attempted to shoot the 
doctor. The doctor took the revolver 
from him, patted him on the head, and 
said: "Voyons, voyons, ne faites pas V en- 
fant 33 ("Now then, now then, don't be 
[31] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

childish") and went on dressing his 
wounds. 

Everywhere you hear accounts of broth- 
erly love and religious tolerance. I re- 
member kneeling once by the side of a 
dying French soldier who was tenderly 
supported in the arms of a famous young 
Mohammedan surgeon, an Egyptian who 
had taken his degree in Edinburgh and 
was now attached to the French Red 
Cross. The man's mind was wandering, 
and seeing a woman beside him he com- 
menced to talk to me as to his betrothed. 
"This war cannot last always, little one, 
and when it is over we will buy a pig and 
a cow and we will go to the cure, won't we, 
beloved?" Then in a lucid moment he 
realised that he was dying, and he com- 
menced to pray, "Ave Maria, Ave 
Maria," but the poor tired brain could re- 
member nothing more. He turned to me 
to continue, but I could no longer trust 
myself to speak, and it was the Moham- 
medan who took up the prayer and con- 
tinued it whilst the soldier followed with 

[32] 



RECRUITING RAT-CATCHERS 

his lips until his soul passed away into the 
valley of shadows. I think this story is 
only equalled in its hroad tolerance by 
that of the Rabbi Bloch of Lvons, who 
was shot at the battle of the Aisne whilst 
holding a crucifix to the lips of a dying 
Christian soldier. The soldier priests of 
France have earned the love and respect 
of even the most irreligious of the Poilus. 
They never hesitate to risk their lives, and 
have displayed sublime courage and devo- 
tion to their duty as priests and as sol- 
diers. Behind the first line of trenches a 
soldier priest called suddenly to attend a 
dying comrade, took a small dog he was 
nursing and handing it to one of the men 
simply remarked, "Take care of the little 
beast for me, I am going to a dangerous 
corner and I do not want it killed." 



[33] 



A GUN CARRIAGE AN ALTAR 



IV 

A GUN CARRIAGE AN ALTAR 

I have seen the Mass celebrated on a 
gun carriage. Vases made of shell cases 
were filled with flowers that the men 
had risked their lives to gather in order 
to deck the improvised altar. A Red 
Cross ambulance drove up and stopped 
near by. The wounded begged to be 
taken out on their stretchers and laid at 
the foot of the altar in order that "they 
might receive the blessing of the good 
God" before starting on the long journey 
to the hospital behind the lines. 

Outside the prison camp of Cannantre 
stood a circle of French soldiers learning 
the bugle calls for the French Army. I 
wondered how the Germans cared to listen 
to the martial music of the men of France, 
one and all so sure of the ultimate victory 
[37] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

of their country. Half a kilometre fur- 
ther on, a series of mock trenches had been 
made where the men were practising the 
throwing of hand grenades. Every avail- 
able inch of space behind the French lines 
is made to serve some useful purpose. 

I never see a hand grenade without 
thinking how difficult it is just now to be a 
hero in France. Every man is really a 
hero, and the men who have medals are 
almost ashamed since they know that 
nearly all their comrades merit them. It 
is especially difficult to be a hero in one's 
own family. One of the men in our hos- 
pital at Royaumont had been in the 
trenches during an attack. A grenade 
thrown by one of the French soldiers 
struck the parapet and rebounded 
amongst the men. With that rapidity of 
thought which is part of the French char- 
acter, Jules sat on the grenade and ex- 
tinguished it. For this act of bravery he 
was decorated by the French Government 
and wrote home to tell his wife. I found 
him sitting up in bed, gloomily reading 

[38] 



A GUN CARRIAGE AN ALTAR 

her reply, and I enquired why he looked 
so glum. "Well, Mademoiselle," he re- 
plied, "I wrote to my wife to tell her of 
my new honour and see what she says: 
'My dear Jules, We are not surprised you 
got a medal for sitting on a hand grenade ; 
we have never known you to do anything 
else but sit down at home!!!' " 

It was at Fere Champenoise that we 
passed through the first village which had 
been entirely destroyed by the retreating 
Germans. Only half the church was 
standing, but services are still held there 
every Sunday. Very little attempt has 
been made to rebuild the ruined houses. 
Were I one of the villagers I would prefer 
to raze to the ground all that remained of 
the desecrated homesteads and build 
afresh new dwellings ; happy in the knowl- 
edge that with the victory of the Allies 
would start a period of absolute security, 
prosperity and peace. 



[39] 



LIFE BEHIND THE LINES 



V 

LIFE BEHIND THE LINES 

Soon after leaving Mailly we had the 
privilege of beholding some of the four 
hundred centimetre guns of France, all 
prepared and ready to travel at a min- 
ute's notice along the railway lines to the 
section where they might be needed. Some 
idea of their size may be obtained from 
the fact that there were ten axles to the 
base on which they travel. They were all 
disguised by the system of camouflage em- 
ployed by the French Army, and at a very 
short distance they blend with the land- 
scape ?nd become almost invisible. Each 
gun bears a different name, "Alsace," 
"Lorraine," etc., and with that strange 
irony and cynical wit of the French troop- 
er, at the request of the men of one bat- 
tery, one huge gun has been christened 
"Mosquito," "Because it stings." 
[43] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

The French often use a bitter and bit- 
ing humour in speaking of the enemy. 
For instance, amongst the many pets of 
the men, the strangest I saw was a small 
hawk sitting on the wrist of a soldier who 
had trained him. The bird was the per- 
sonification of evil. If any one ap- 
proached he snapped at them and endeav- 
oured to bite them. I asked the man why 
he kept him, and he replied that they had 
quite good sport in the trenches when they 
allowed the hawk to hunt small birds and 
field mice. Then his expression changing 
from jovial good humour to grimness, he 
added, "You know, I call him 'Zepp,' be- 
cause he kills the little ones," (parcequil 
tue les tous petits.) 



[44] 



DEVOTION TO ANIMALS 



VI 

DEVOTION TO ANIMALS 

In one small cantonment where two 
hundred Poilus sang, shouted, ate, drank 
and danced together to the strain of 
a wheezy gramophone, or in one word 
were "resting," I started to investigate 
the various kinds of pets owned by the 
troopers. Cats, dogs and monkeys were 
common, whilst one Poilu was the proud 
possessor of a parrot which he had pur- 
chased from a refugee obliged to fly from 
his home. He hastened to assure us that 
the bird had learned his "vocabulary" 
from his former proprietor. A study in 
black and white was a group of three or 
four white mice, nestling against the neck 
of a Senegalais. 

The English Tommy is quite as devoted 
to animals as is his French brother. I 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

remember crossing one bitter February 
day from Boulogne to Folkestone. 
Alongside the boat, on the quay at Bou- 
logne, were lined up the men who had 
been granted leave. Arrayed in their 
shaggy fur coats they resembled little the 
smart British soldier of peace times. It 
was really wonderful how much the men 
managed to conceal under those fur coats, 
or else the eye of the officer inspecting 
them was intentionally not too keen. 

Up the gangway trooped the men, and 
I noticed that two of them walked slowly 
and cautiously. The boat safely out of 
harbour, one of them produced from his 
chest a large tabby cat, whilst the other 
placed a fine cock on the deck. It was a 
cock with the true Gallic spirit, before the 
cat had time to consider the situation it 
had sprung on its back. The cat beat a 
hasty retreat into the arms of its protector 
who replaced it under his coat. Once in 
safety it stuck out its head and swore at 
the cock, which, perched on a coil of rope, 
crowed victoriously. Both had been the 

[48] 



DEVOTION TO ANIMALS 

companions of the men in the trenches, 
and they were bringing them home. 

A soldier standing near me began to 
grumble because he had not been able to 
bring his pet with him. I enquired why 
he had left it behind since the others had 
brought theirs away with them, and elic- 
ited the information that his pet was "a 
cow, and therefore somewhat difficult to 
transport." He seemed rather hurt that 
I should laugh, and assured me it was "a 
noble animal, brown with white spots, and 
had given himself and his comrades two 
quarts of milk a day." He looked dis- 
dainfully at the cock and cat. "They 
could have left them behind and no one 
would have pinched them, whereas I know 
I'll never see 'Sarah' again, she was far 
too useful." 

Entering Vitry-le-Francois we had a 
splendid example of the typical "motto" 
of the French trooper, fC Il ne faut pas s'en 
faire" One of the motor cars had broken 
down, and the officer-occupants, who were 
evidently not on an urgent mission, had 
[49] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

gone to sleep on the banks by the side of 
the road whilst the chauffeur was making 
the necessary repairs. We offered him 
assistance, but he was progressing quite 
well alone. Later on another officer re- 
lated to me his experience when his car 
broke down at midnight some twelve miles 
from a village. The chauffeur was mak- 
ing slow headway with the repairs. The 
officer enquired whether he really under- 
stood the job, and received the reply, 
"Yes, mon Lieutenant, I think I do, but 
I am rather a novice, as before the war I 
was a lion-tamer!" Apparently the gal- 
lant son of Gaul found it easier to tame 
lions than to repair motors. 



[50] 



HUNTING FOR GENERALS 



VII 

HUNTING FOR GENERALS 

We left Vitry-le-Francois at six o'clock 
next morning, and started "the hunt for 
Generals." It is by no means easy to dis- 
cover where the actual Headquarters of 
the General of any particular sector is 
situated. 

We were not yet really on the "White 
Road" to Verdun, and there was still 
much to be seen that delighted the eyes. 
In one yellow cornfield there appeared to 
be enormous poppies. On approaching we 
discovered a detachment of Tirailleurs 
from Algiers, sitting in groups, and the 
"poppies" were the red fezes of the men — 
a gorgeous blending of crimson and gold. 
We threw a large box of cigarettes to 
them and were greeted with shouts of joy 
and thanks. The Tirailleurs are the 
[53] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

enfants terribles of the French Army. 
One noble son of Africa who was being 
treated in one of the hospitals once pre- 
sented me with an aluminium ring made 
from a piece of German shell. I asked 
him to make one for one of my comrades 
who was working at home, and he in- 
formed me that nothing would have given 
greater pleasure, but unfortunately he had 
no more aluminium. Later in the day, 
passing through the ward, I saw him sur- 
rounded by five or six Parisian ladies who 
were showering sweets, cigarettes and 
flowers on him, whilst he was responding 
by presenting each of them with an alu- 
minium ring. When they had left I went 
to him and told him "Mahmud, that was 
not kind. I asked you for a ring and you 
said you had not got any more alumin- 
ium." He smiled and his nurse, who was 
passing, added, "No, he had not got any 
more aluminium, but when he is better he 
will get forty-eight hours' punishment ; he 
has been into the kitchen, stolen one of 
our best aluminium saucepans, and has 

[54] 




THE^CAR IN WHICH I MADE THE .JOURNEY INTO VERDUN 



HUNTING FOR GENERALS 

been making souvenirs for the ladies." He 
made no attempt to justify his action 
beyond stating: "Moi, pas si mauvais, toi 
pas faucc souvenir" ("I am not so bad, I 
did not try to give you a fake souvenir") . 

Another of our chocolate coloured pa- 
tients found in the grounds of the hospital 
an old umbrella. Its ribs stuck out and it 
was full of holes, but it gave him the idea 
of royalty and daily he sat up in bed in 
the ward with the umbrella unfurled 
whilst he laid down the law to his com- 
rades. The nurses endeavoured to per- 
suade him to hand it over at night. He 
obstinately refused, insisting that "he 
knew his comrades," and he feared that 
one of them would certainly steal the 
treasure, so he preferred to keep it in the 
bed with him. 

At Villers-le-Sec we came upon the 
headquarters of the cooks for that section 
of the Front. The cook is one of the most 
important men in a French regiment; he 
serves many ends. When carrying the 
food through the communicating trenches 
[55] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

to the front line trenches he is always sup- 
posed to bring to the men the latest news, 
the latest tale which is going the round of 
the camp, and anything that may happen 
to interest them. If he has not got any 
news he must manufacture and produce 
some kind of story. It is really necessary 
for him to be not only a cook but also an 
author. 

There is a tale going the round of the 
French Army how one section of the 
Cooks, although unarmed, managed to 
take some twenty German prisoners. As 
they went on their way, they saw the Ger- 
mans in the distance approaching them; the 
Head Cook quietly drew the field kitch- 
ens behind a clump of trees and bushes, 
placed his men in a row, each with a cook- 
ing utensil in his hand, and as the Ger- 
mans passed shouted to them to surren- 
der. The sun fell on the handles of the 
saucepans, causing them to shine like bay- 
onets, and the Germans, taken unawares, 
laid down their arms. The Head Cook 
then stepped out and one by one took the 

[56] 



HUNTING FOR GENERALS 

rifles from the enemy and handed them to 
his men. It was only when he had dis- 
armed the Germans and armed his com- 
rades that he gave the signal for them to 
step out, and the Germans saw that they 
had been taken by a ruse. One can imag- 
ine the joy of the French troops in the 
next village when, with a soup ladle in his 
hand, his assistants armed with German 
rifles, followed by the soup kitchen and 
twenty prisoners — he marched in to 
report. 



[57] 



AN INSTANCE OF QUICK WIT 



VIII 

AN INSTANCE OF QUICK WIT 

It is curious how near humour is to 
tragedy in war, how quick wit may serve 
a useful purpose, and even save life. A 
young French medical student told me 
that he owed his life to the quick wit of 
the women of a village and the sense of 
humour of a Saxon officer. Whilst pass- 
ing from one hospital to another he was 
captured by a small German patrol, and 
in spite of his papers proving that he was 
attached to the Red Cross Service, he was 
tried as a spy and condemned to be shot. 
At the opening of his trial the women had 
been interested spectators, towards the 
end all of them had vanished. He was 
placed against a barn door, the firing 
squad lined up, when from behind the 
hedge bordering a wood, the women be- 
[61] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

gan to bombard the soldiers with eggs. 
The aim was excellent, not one man es- 
caped; the German officer laughed at the 
plight of his men and, in the brief respite 
accorded, the young man dashed towards 
the hedge and vanished in the under- 
growth. The Germans fired a few shots 
but there was no organised attempt to fol- 
low him, probably because their own posi- 
tion was not too secure. He was loth to 
leave the women to face the music, but 
they insisted that it was pour la patrie and 
that they were quite capable of taking 
care of themselves. Later he again visited 
the village and the women told him that 
beyond obliging them to clean the sol- 
diers' clothes thoroughly, the German of- 
ficer had inflicted no other punishment 
upon them. 

A certain number of inhabitants are 
still living in the village of Revigny. You 
see everywhere placards announcing 
"Caves pour 25," "Caves pour 100," and 
each person knows to which cellar he is to 
go if a Taube should start bombing 

[62] 



AN INSTANCE OF QUICK WIT 

the village. I saw one cellar marked "120 
persons, specially safe, reserved for the 
children." Children are one of the most 
valuable assets of France, and a good old 
Territorial "Pe-Pere" (Daddy), as they 
are nicknamed, told me that it was his spe- 
cial but difficult duty to muster the chil- 
dren directly a Taube was signalled and 
chase them down into the cellar. Mop- 
ping his brow he assured me that it was 
not easy to catch the little beggars, who 
hid in the ruins, behind the army wagons, 
anywhere to escape the "parental" eye, 
even standing in rain barrels up to their 
necks in water. It is needless to add 
they consider it a grave infringement of 
their personal liberty and think that they 
should be allowed to remain in the open 
and see all that goes on, just as the little 
Londoners beg and coax to be allowed to 
stay up "to see the Zepps." 

Passing the railway station we stopped 
to make some enquiries, and promptly as- 
certained all we wished to know from the 
Chef de Gare. In the days of peace there 
[63] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

is in France no one more officious than the 
station master of a small but prosperous 
village. Now he is the meekest of men. 
Braided cap in hand he goes along the 
train from carriage door to carriage door 
humbly requesting newspapers for the 
wounded in the local hospitals: "Nous 
avons cent vingt cinq blesses id, cela les 
fait tant de plaisir d' avoir des nouvelles! 3 
(We have 125 wounded here and they 
love to hear the news. ) 

In addition to levying a toll on printed 
matter, he casts a covetous and meaning 
glance on any fruit or chocolate that may 
be visible. Before the train is out of the 
station, you can see the once busy, and in 
his own opinion, all-important railway 
official, vanishing down the road to carry 
his spoils to his suffering comrades. Rail- 
way travelling is indeed expensive in 
France. No matter what time of day or 
night, wet or fine, the trains are met at 
each station by devoted women who ex- 
tract contributions for the Bed Cross 

[64J 



AN INSTANCE OF QUICK WIT 

Funds from the pockets of willing givers. 
It is only fair to state, however, that in 
most instances the station master gets 
there first. 



[65] 



AT THE HEADQUARTERS OF 
GENERAL PETAIN 



IX 

AT THE HEADQUARTERS OF GENERAL 
PETAIN 

From the time we left Revigny until 
we had passed into the Champagne coun- 
try, upon the return journey from Ver- 
dun, we no longer saw a green tree or 
a blade of green grass; we were now in- 
deed upon the "White Road which leads 
unto Verdun." Owing to an exception- 
ally trying and dry summer the roads are 
thick with white dust. The continual 
passing of the camions, the splendid trans- 
port wagons of the French Army, carry- 
ing either food, munitions, or troops, has 
stirred up the dust and coated the fields, 
trees and hedges with a thick layer of 
white. It is almost as painful to the eyes 
as the snow-fields of the Alps. 

I saw one horse that looked exactly like 
[69] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

a plaster statuette. His master had 
scrubbed him down, but before he dried 
the white dust had settled on him every- 
where. Naturally humans do not escape. 
By the time our party reached the Head- 
quarters of General Petain we had joined 
the White Brigade. I excused myself to 
the General, who smilingly replied: "Why 
complain, Mademoiselle, you are charm- 
ing; your hair is powdered like that of a 
Marquise." The contrast with what had 
been a black fur cap on what was now per- 
fectly white hair justified his compliment. 
I have never been renowned in my life 
for fear of any individual, but I must ad- 
mit that I passed into the presence of 
General Petain with a great deal of re- 
spect amounting almost to awe. The de- 
fence of Verdun through the bitter 
months of February and March by Gen- 
eral Petain, a defence which is now under 
the immediate control of his able lieuten- 
ants General Nivelle and General Dubois, 
has earned the respect and admiration of 
the whole world. It is impossible not to 

[70] 




GENERALS JOFFRE AND PETAIN AT THE LATTER S HEADQUARTERS 



AT HEADQUARTERS OF GENERAL PETAIN 

feel the deepest admiration for these men 
who have earned such undying glory, not 
only for themselves, but for their Mother- 
land. 

No one could have been more gracious 
and kind than General Petain, and in his 
presence one realised the strength and 
power of France. Throughout all the 
French Headquarters one is impressed by 
the perfect calm; no excitement; every- 
thing perfectly organised. 

General Petain asked me at once to tell 
him what I desired. I asked his permis- 
sion to go to Rheims. He at once took 
up a paper which permitted me to enter 
the war zone and endorsed it with the re- 
quest to General Debeney in Rheims to 
allow me to penetrate with my compan- 
ions into the city. He then turned to me 
again and asked me, with a knowing 
smile, if that was all I required — for his 
Headquarters were hardly on the direct 
road to Rheims! I hesitated to express 
my real wish, when my good counsellor 
and friend, with whom I was making the 
[71] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

journey, the Commandant Jean de Pul- 
ligny, answered for me: "I feel sure it 
would be a great happiness and honour if 
you would allow us, General, to go to Ver- 
dun." General Petain appeared slightly 
surprised, and turning to me asked: "Do 
you thoroughly realise the danger? You 
have crossed the Atlantic and faced sub- 
marines, but you will risk ,more in five 
minutes in Verdun than in crossing the 
Atlantic a thousand times." However, 
seeing that I was really anxious to go, and 
that it might be of great service to me in 
my future work to have seen personally 
the defence of Verdun, he added smil- 
ingly: "Well then, you can go if you wish 
at your own risk and peril." He then 
telephoned to General Nivelle the neces- 
sary permission for us to enter Verdun. 

I doubt whether General Petain real- 
ises the respect in which he is held in all 
the civilised countries of the world. Prob- 
ably he does not yet understand that peo- 
ple would come thousands of miles to have 
five minutes' audience with him, for he 

[72] 



AT HEADQUARTERS OF GENERAL PETAIN 

enquired if we were in any hurry to con- 
tinue our journey, and added with charm- 
ing simplicity — "Because if not, and you 
do not mind waiting an hour, I shall be 
glad if you will lunch with me." 



[73] 



A MEETING WITH "FORAIN" 



X 



A MEETING WITH "fORAIN" 



We lunched with General Petain and 
his Etat Major. A charming and most 
interesting addition to the party was M. 
Forain, the famous French caricaturist, 
and now one of the Chief Instructors of 
the French Army in the art of camouflage 
— the art of making a thing look like any- 
thing in the world except what it is ! He 
has established a series of schools all along 
the French Front, where the Poilus learn 
to bedeck their guns and thoroughly dis- 
guise them under delicate shades of green 
and yellow, with odd pink spots, in order 
to relieve the monotony. Certainly the 
appearance of the guns of the present 
time would rejoice the heart and soul of 
the "Futurists." It was most interesting 
to hear him describe the work in detail 
[77] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

and the rapidity with which his pupils 
learned the new art. For one real bat- 
tery there are probably three or four false 
ones, beautiful wooden guns, etc., etc., and 
he told us of the Poilus' new version of 
the song "Rien n'est plus beau que notre 
Patrie" ("Nothing is more beautiful than 
our country"). They now sing "Rien 
n'est plus faux que notre batterie" 
("Nothing is more false than our bat- 
tery"). 

It was M. Forain who coined the fa- 
mous phrase "that there was no fear for 
the ultimate success of the Allies, if only 
the civilians held out!" 

I was much amused at M. Forain's 
statement that he had already heard that 
a company had been formed for erecting, 
after the War, wooden hotels on the bat- 
tlefields of France for the accommodation 
of sightseers. Not only was it certain that 
these hotels were to be built, but the rooms 
were already booked in advance. 



[78] 



VALUE OF WOMEN'S WORK 



XI 

VALUE OF WOMEN'S WORK 

It was strange to find there, within the 
sound of the guns — sometimes the glasses 
on the table danced to the music although 
no one took any notice of that — sur- 
rounded by men directing the operations 
of the war and of one of the greatest bat- 
tles in history, how little War was men- 
tioned. Science, Philosophy and the work 
of women were discussed. 

The men of France are taking deep in- 
terest in the splendid manner in which 
the women of all the different nations are 
responding to the call to service. I de- 
scribed to General Petain the work of the 
Scottish Women's Hospitals. These mag- 
nificent hospitals are organised and 
staffed entirely by women and started, in 
the first instance, by the Scottish Branch 
[81] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

of the National Union of Women's Suf- 
frage. He was deeply interested to learn 
that what had been before the War a po- 
litical society had, with that splendid 
spirit of patriotism which had from the 
first day of the war animated every man, 
woman and child of Great Britain, drawn 
upon its funds and founded the Hospital 
Units. I explained to him that it was no 
longer a question of politics, but simply a 
case of serving humanity and serving it to 
the best possible advantage. The Na- 
tional Union had realised that this was a 
time for organised effort on the part of 
all women for the benefit of the human 
race and the alleviation of suffering. 

I spoke of the bravery of our girls in 
Serbia; how many of them had laid down 
their lives during the typhus epidemic; 
how cheerfully they had borne hardships, 
our doctors writing home that their tent 
hospitals were like "great white birds 
spreading their wings under the trees," 
whereas really they had often been up all 
night hanging on to the tent poles to pre- 

[82] 




A SERBIAN REFUGEE BOY 



VALUE OF WOMEN'S WORK 

vent the tents collapsing over their pa- 
tients. 

A member of the Etat Major asked 
how we overcame the language difficulty. 
I pointed out that to diagnose typhus and 
watch the progress of the patient it was 
not necessary to speak to him, and that by 
the magic language of sympathy we man- 
aged to establish some form of "under- 
standing" between the patients, the Doc- 
tors, and the Nurses. The members of 
our staff were chosen as far as possible 
with a knowledge of French or German, 
and it was possible to find many Serbians 
speaking either one of these languages. 
We also found interpreters amongst the 
Austrian prisoner orderlies. These pris- 
oner orderlies had really proved useful 
and had done their best to help us. Natu- 
rally they had their faults. One of our 
Lady Doctors had as orderly a Viennese 
Professor, willing but somewhat absent- 
minded. One morning she sent for him 
and asked him: "Herr Karl, can you tell 
me what was wrong with my bath water 
[83] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

this morning?" "I really don't know, 
Fraulein, but I will endeavour to find 
out." 

Ten minutes later he returned, looking 
decidedly guilty and stammered out, "I 
do not know how to tell you what hap- 
pened to that bath water." "Nonsense, 
it can't be very terrible," replied Doctor 
X. "What was wrong?" "Well, Fraulein, 
when I went into the camp kitchen this 
morning there were two cauldrons there, 
one was your bath water, and the other 
was the camp soup. To you, Fraulein, I 
brought the camp soup." 

We who had worked with the Serbians 
had learned to respect and admire them 
for their patriotism, courage and patient 
endurance. We felt that their outstanding 
characteristic was their imagination, which, 
turned into the proper channels and given 
a chance to develop, should produce for 
the world not only famous painters and 
poets but also great inventors. This vivid 
imagination is found in the highest and 
lowest of the land. To illustrate it, I told 

[84] 



VALUE OF WOMEN'S WORK 

my neighbour at table a tale related to me 
by my good friend Dr. Popovic. "Two 
weary, ragged Serbian soldiers were sit- 
ting huddled together waiting to be or- 
dered forward to fight. One asked the 
other, "Do you know how this War 
started, Milan? You don't. Well then I'll 
tell you. The Sultan of Turkey sent our 
King Peter a sack of rice. King Peter 
looked at the sack, smiled, then took 
a very small bag and went into his garden 
and filled it with red pepper. He sent 
the bag of red pepper to the Sultan of 
Turkey. Now, Milan, you can see what 
that meant. The Sultan of Turkey said 
to our Peter, 'My army is as numerous 
as the grains of rice in this sack,' and by 
sending a small bag of red pepper to the 
Sultan our Peter replied, 'My Army is 
not very numerous, but it is mighty hot 
stuff.' " 

Many members of the Units of the 

Scottish Women's Hospitals who had 

been driven out of Serbia at the time of 

the great invasion had asked to be allowed 

[85] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

to return to work for the Serbians, and we 
were now equipping fresh units, entirely 
staffed by women, to serve with the Ser- 
bian Army, besides having at the present 
time the medical care of six thousand Ser- 
bian refugees on the island of Corsica. 

General Petain said smiling that before 
the war he had sometimes thought of 
women "as those who inspired the most 
beautiful ideas in men and prevented them 
from carrying them out," but the war, he 
added, had certainly proved conclusively 
the value of women's work. 

M. Forain expressed the desire to visit 
the chief French Hospital of the Scottish 
Women at the Abbaye de Royaumont. 
The General laughingly told him, "You 
do not realise how stern and devoted to 
duty those ladies are. I wonder if you 
would be permitted to visit them?" 

I consoled M. Forain by pointing out 
that surely as chief Camoufler (dis- 
guiser) of the French Army, he could dis- 
guise himself as a model of virtue {de se 
camoufler en bon gar f on) . Certainly this 

[86] 




WOMANLY TENDERNESS. PATIENT UNDERGOING 
SUN AND SALT TREATMENT 



VALUE OF WOMEN'S WORK 



son of France, who has turned his brilliant 
intellect and his art to the saving of men's 
lives, would be welcome anywhere and 
everywhere. I hastened to assure him 
that I was only teasing him, and added 
that I only teased the people I admired 
and liked. General Petain immediately 
turned to the Commandant de Pulligny — 
"Please remark that she has not yet teased 
me." "Probably because she fears to do it, 
and has too much respect for you," replied 
the Commandant. "Fears! I do not think 
we need talk of that just now, when she 
dares to go to Verdun." 

Whilst at coffee after lunch the news 
came of the continued advance of the 
British troops. General Petain turned to 
me and said, "You must indeed be proud 
in England of your new army. Please tell 
your English people of our admiration of 
the magnificent effort of England. The 
raising and equipping of your giant army 
in such a short time was indeed a colossal 
task. How well it was carried out all the 
[87] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

world now knows and we are reaping the 
harvest." 

The General's Chief of Staff added: 
"Lord Kitchener was right when he said 
the war would last three years" — "the first 
year preparation, the second year defence, 
and the third year cela sera rigolo (it 
will be huge sport)." He quoted the 
phrase as Lord Kitchener's own. 

Before we left the General signed for 
me the menu of the lunch, pointing out to 
me, however, that if I were at any time 
to show the menu to the village policeman 
I must assure him that the hare which 
figured thereon had been run over at night 
by a motor car and lost its life owing to 
an accident, otherwise he might, he feared, 
be fined for killing game out of season ! 

I shall always remember the picture of 
General Petain seeing us into our car with 
his parting words, "You are about to do 
the most dangerous thing you have ever 
done or will ever do in your life. As for 
Verdun, tell them in England that I am 
smiling and I am sure that when you see 

[88] 



VALUE OF WOMEN'S WORK 

General Nivelle you will find him smiling 
too. That is the best answer I can give 
you as to how things are going with us 
at Verdun." Then with a friendly wave 
of his hand we passed on our way. 

After leaving the Headquarters of 
General Petain we were held up for some 
time at a level crossing and watched the 
busy little train puffing along, carrying 
towards Verdun stores, munitions and 
men. This level crossing had been the 
scene of active fighting; on each side were 
numerous graves, and the sentinels off 
duty were passing from one to the other 
picking a dead leaf or drawing a branch 
of trailing vine over the resting places of 
their comrades. 

Above our heads circled "les guepes" 
the wasps of the French Army. They had 
been aroused by the appearance of a 
Taube and were preparing to sting had 
the Taube waited or made any further 
attempt to proceed over the French lines. 
However, deciding that discretion was the 
better part of valour, it turned and fled. 
[89] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

It is unwise, however, to stir up the 
"wasps of France"; they followed it, and 
later in the day we heard that it had been 
brought down near Verdun. 

We were now in the centre of activity 
of the army defending Verdun. On every 
hand we saw artillery parks, ammunition 
parks, and regiments resting, whilst along 
the road a long line of camions passed 
unceasingly. During the whole length of 
my stay on the French Front I only saw 
one regiment marching. Everywhere the 
men are conveyed in the camions, and 
are thus spared the fatigue which would 
otherwise be caused by the intense heat 
and the white dust. There are perhaps 
only two things that can in any way up- 
set the perfect indifference to difficulties 
of the French trooper: he hates to walk, 
and he refuses to be deprived of his 
"pinard." The men of the French Army 
have named their red wine "pinard," just 
as they call water "la flotte," always, how- 
ever, being careful to add that "la flotte" 
is excellent "for washing one's feet." 

[90] 




H 
cC 
H 

H 

n 
o 

£ 

PQ 

H 
H 
Eh 

S 

w o 

H O 

< „ 



VALUE OF WOMEN'S WORK 

As we passed through the Headquarters 
of General Nivelle, he sent down word to 
us not to wait to call on him then, but to 
proceed at once to Verdun as later the 
passage would become more difficult. He 
kindly sent down to us one of the officers 
of his staff to act as escort. The officer 
sat by our chauffeur, warning him of the' 
dangerous spots in the road which the 
Germans had the habit of "watering" 
from time to time with "marmites," and 
ordering him to put on extra speed. Our 
speed along the road into Verdun aver- 
aged well over a mile a minute. 



[91] 



THE "MOVIES" UNDER FIRE 



XII 



THE "MOVIES" UNDER FIRE 



Within range of the German guns, 
probably not more than four or five kilo- 
metres from Verdun, we came on a line of 
men waiting their turn to go into the 
cinema. After all there was no reason 
iC de sen faire" and if they were alive they 
decided they might as well be happy and 
amused. Just before entering the gate of 
Verdun we passed a number of ambu- 
lances, some of them driven by the Ameri- 
can volunteers. These young Americans 
have displayed splendid heroism in bring- 
ing in the wounded under difficult condi- 
tions. Many of them have been men- 
tioned in despatches, and have received 
from France the Croix de Guerre. I also 
saw an ambulance marked "Lloyds." 

It would be useless to pretend that one 
[95] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

entered Verdun without emotion, — Ver- 
dun, sorely stricken, yet living, kept alive 
by the indomitable soul of the soldiers of 
France, whilst her wounds are daily 
treated and healed by the skill of her Gen- 
erals. A white city of desolation, scorched 
and battered, yet the brightest jewel in 
the crown of France's glory; a shining 
example to the world of the triumph of 
human resistance and the courage of men. 
A city of strange and cruel sounds. The 
short, sharp bark of the 75's, the boom of 
the death-dealing enemy guns, the shrieks 
of the shells and the fall of masonry part- 
ing from houses to which it had been at- 
tached for centuries, whilst from the shat- 
tered window frames the familiar sprite of 
the household looked ever for the children 
who came no longer across the thresholds 
of the homes. Verdun is no longer a 
refuge for all that is good and beautiful 
and tender, and so the sounds of the 
voices of children and of birds are heard 
no more. Both have flown; the children 
were evacuated with the civilians in the 

[96] 




WE LEFT THE CAR AND CLIMBED THROUGH 
THE RUINED STREETS 



THE "MOVIES" UNDER FIRE 



bitter months of February and March, 
and the birds, realising that there is no 
secure place in which to nest, have de- 
serted not only Verdun but the whole of 
the surrounding district. 

We proceeded to a terrace overlooking 
the lower part of the town and witnessed 
a duel between the French and German 
artillery. The Germans were bombard- 
ing the barracks of Chevert, and from all 
around the French guns were replying. 
It was certainly a joy to note that for 
one boom of a German cannon there were 
certainly ten answers from the French 
guns. The French soldiers off duty 
should have been resting in the caves and 
dug-outs which have been prepared for 
them, but most of them were out on the 
terraces in different parts of the city, 
smoking and casually watching the effect 
of the German or of their own fire. I en- 
quired of one Poilu whether he would be 
glad to leave Verdun, and he laughingly 
replied: "One might be worse off than 
here. This is the time of year that in 
[97] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

peace times I should have been staying 
in the country with my mother-in-law." 

There is no talk of peace in Verdun. I 
asked one of the men when he thought the 
war would end. "Perfectly simple to re- 
ply to that, Mademoiselle; the war will 
end the day that hostilities cease." 

I believe that the Germans would not 
be sorry to abandon the siege of Verdun. 
In one of the French newspapers I saw 
the following verse: 

Bodies, a Punivers votre zele importun 

Fait des "communiques" dont personne n'est 

dupe. 
Vous dites : "Nos soldats occuperont Verdun. 
Jusqu'ici c'est plutot Verdun qui les occupe." 

(You say that you soon will hold Verdun, 
Whilst really Verdun holds you.) 

We left the car and climbed through the 
ruined streets to the top of the citadel. 
No attempt has been made to remove any 
of the furniture or effects from the de- 
molished houses. In those houses from 
which only the front had been blown away 

[98] 



THE "MOVIES" UNDER FIRE 



the spoons and forks were in some in- 
stances still on the table, set ready for the 
meal that had been interrupted. 

From windows lace curtains and drap- 
eries hung out over the fronts of the 
houses. Everywhere shattered doors, 
broken cupboards, drawers thrown open 
where the inhabitants had thought to try 
to save some of their cherished belongings, 
but had* finally fled leaving all to the care 
of the soldiers, who protect the property 
of the inhabitants as carefully as if it were 
their own. 

It would be difficult to find finer cus- 
todians. I was told that at Bobigny, pres 
Bourget, there is on one of the houses the 
following inscription worthy of classical 
times : 

"The proprietor of this house has gone 
to the War. He leaves this dwelling to 
the care of the French. Long live 
France." And he left the key in the lock. 

The soldiers billeted in the house read 
the inscription, which met with their ap- 
proval, and so far each regiment in pass- 
[99] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

ing had cleaned out the little dwelling and 
left it in perfect order. 

From the citadel we went down into the 
trenches which led to the lines at Thiau- 
mont. The heat in the city was excessive 
but in the trenches it was delightfully 
cool, perhaps a little too cool. We heard 
the men make no complaints except that 
at times the life was a little "monoto- 
nous"! One man told me that he was 
once in a trench that was occupied at the 
same time by the French and the Ger- 
mans. There was nothing between them 
but sand bags and a thick wall of clay, 
and day and night the French watched 
that wall. One day a slight scratching 
was heard. The men prepared to face 
the crumbling of the barrier when through 
a small hole popped out the head of a 
brown rabbit. Down into the trench 
hopped Mrs. Bunny, followed by two 
small bunnies, and although rabbit for 
lunch would have improved the menu the 
men had not the heart to kill her. On the 
contrary they fed her on their rations and 

[100] 



THE "MOVIES" UNDER FIRE 

at night-fall she departed, followed by her 
progeny. 

From all the dug-outs heads popped 
out and the first movement of surprise at 
seeing a woman in the trenches turned to 
a smile of delight, since the Poilu is at all 
times a chivalrous gentleman. One man 
was telling me of the magnificent work 
that had been accomplished by his "com- 
pagnie." I congratulated him and told 
him he must be happy to be in such a com- 
pany. He swept off his iron casque, 
bowed almost to the ground, and an- 
swered: "Certainly I am happy in my 
company, Mademoiselle, but I am far 
happier in yours." The principal grief of 
the Poilus appeared to be that a shell two 
or three days before had destroyed the 
store of the great "dragee" (sugared al- 
mond) manufactory of Verdun. Before 
leaving the manufacturer had bequeathed 
his stock to the Army and they were all 
regretting that they had not been greedier 
and eaten up the "dragees" quicker. 

In the trenches near Verdun, as in the 
[101] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

trenches in Flanders, you find the men 
talking little of war, but much of their 
homes and their families. I came once 
upon a group of Bretons. They had 
opened some tins of sardines and sitting 
around a bucket of blazing coals they were 
toasting the fish on the ends of small 
twigs. I asked them why they were wast- 
ing their energies since the fish were ready 
to be eaten straight from the tins. "We 
know," they replied, "but it smells like 
home." I suppose with the odour of the 
cooking fish, in the blue haze of the smoke, 
they saw visions of their cottages and the 
white-coiffed Bretonnes frying the fresh 
sardines that they had caught. 

The dusk was now falling and, enter- 
ing the car, we proceeded towards the 
lower part of the town at a snail's pace 
in order not to draw the German fire. 
We were told that at the present time 
approximately one hundred shells a day 
still fall on Verdun, but at the time of 
the great attack the number was as high 
as eight hundred, whilst as many as two 

[102] 




THE HEAT IN THE CITY WAS EXCESSIVE BUT IN THE 
TRENCHES IT WAS DELIGHTFULLY COOL 



THE "MOVIES" UNDER FIRE 



hundred thousand shells fell daily in and 
around Verdun. 

Just before we reached the entrance to 
the citadel the enemy began to shell the 
city and one of the shells exploded within 
two hundred feet of the car. We knew 
that we were near the entrance to the 
vaults of the citadel and could take ref- 
uge, so we left the car and proceeded on 
foot. Without thinking we walked in the 
centre of the road, and the sentinel at the 
door of the citadel began in somewhat em- 
phatic French to recommend us to "longer 
les murs" (to hug the walls tightly) . The 
Germans are well aware of the entrance 
to the citadel and daily shell the spot. If 
one meets a shell in the centre of the road 
it is obviously no use to argue, whilst in 
hugging the side of the wall there is a 
possibility of only receiving the fragments 
of the bursting shell. 



[103] 



A SUBTERRANEAN CITY 



XIII 

A SUBTERRANEAN CITY 

The subterranean galleries of the cita- 
del of Verdun were constructed by 
Vauban, and are now a hive of activity — 
barbers' shops, sweet shops, boot shops, 
hospitals, anything and everything which 
goes to make up a small city. 

One of the young officers placed his 
"cell" at our disposal. The long galleries 
are all equipped with central heating and 
electric light and some of them have been 
divided off by wooden partitions or cur- 
tains like the dormitories in a large school. 
In the "cell" allocated to us we could see 
the loving touch of a woman's hand. 
Around the pillow on the small camp bed 
was a beautiful edging of Irish lace, and 
on the dressing-table a large bottle of 
Eau-de-Cologne. There is no reason to 
[107] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

be too uncomfortable in Verdun when one 
has a good little wife to think of one and 
to send presents from time to time. 

Emerging from the galleries we met 
General Dubois, a great soldier and a 
kindly man, one who shares the daily per- 
ils of his men. The General invited us to 
remain and dine with him. He had that 
day received from General Nivelle his 
"cravate" as Commander of the Legion of 
Honour, and his officers were giving him 
a dinner-party to celebrate the event. 
"See how kind fate is to me," he added; 
"only one thing was missing from the 
feast — the presence of the ladies — and 
here you are." 

It would need the brush of Rembrandt 
to paint the dining-hall in the citadel of 
Verdun. At one long table in the dimly 
lighted vault sat between eighty and 
ninety officers, who all rose, saluted, and 
cheered as we entered. The General sat 
at the head of the table surrounded by his 
staff, and behind him the faces of the 
cooks were lit up by the fires of the stoves. 

[108] 



A SUBTERRANEAN CITY 

Some short distance behind us was an air- 
shaft. It appears that about a week or a 
fortnight before our arrival a German 
shell, striking the top part of the citadel, 
dislodged some dust and gravel which fell 
down the air-shaft onto the General's 
head. He simply called the attendants to 
him and asked for his table to be moved 
forward a yard, as he did not feel inclined 
to sit at table with his helmet on. 

An excellent dinner — soup, roast mut- 
ton, fresh beans, salade Russe, Frangi- 
pane, dessert — and even champagne to 
celebrate the General's cravate — quite re- 
assured us that people may die in Verdun 
of shells but not of hunger. We drank 
toasts to France, the Allies, and, silently, 
to the men of France who had died that 
we might live. I was asked to propose 
the health of the General and did it in 
English, knowing that he spoke English 
well. I told him that the defenders of 
Verdun would live in our hearts and mem- 
ories; that on behalf of the whole British 
race I felt I might convey to him con- 
[109] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

gratulations on the honour paid to him by 
France. I assured him that we had but 
one idea and one hope, the speedy victory 
of the Allied arms, and that personally 
my present desire was that every one of 
those present at table might live to see the 
flag of France waving over the whole of 
Alsace-Lorraine. They asked me to re- 
peat a description of the flag of France 
which I gave first in Ottawa, so there, in 
the citadel of Verdun with a small French 
flag before me, I went back in spirit to 
Ottawa and remembered how I had 
spoken of the triumph of the flag of 
France: "The red, white and blue — the 
red of the flag of France a little deeper 
hue than in time of peace since it was dyed 
with the blood of her sons, the blood in 
which a new history of France is being 
written, volume on volume, page on page, 
of deeds of heroism, some pages com- 
pleted and signed, others where the pen 
has dropped from the faltering hands and 
which posterity must needs finish. The 
white of the flag of France, not quite so 

[110] 



A SUBTERRANEAN CITY 

white as in time of peace since thousands 
of her sons had taken it in their hands and 
pressed it to their lips before they went 
forward to die for it, yet without stain, 
since in all the record of the war there is 
no blot on the escutcheon of France. And 
the blue of the flag of France, true blue, 
torn and tattered with the marks of the 
bullets and the shrapnel, yet unfurling 
proudly in the breeze whilst the very holes 
were patched by the blue of the sky, since 
surely Heaven stands behind the flag of 
France." 

The men of Verdun were full of ad- 
miration for the glorious Commander of 
the Fort de Vaux. They told me that the 
fort was held, or rather the ruins of the 
fort, until the Germans were actually on 
the top and firing on the French beneath. 

I discussed with my neighbour the fact 
that the Germans had more hatred for us 
than for the French. He said the whole 
world would ridicule the Germans for the 
manner in which they had exploited the 
phrase "Gott strafe England," writing it 
[111] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

even on the walls anywhere and every- 
where. He added laughingly that it 
should not worry the English comrades. 
"When they read 'Gott strafe England' 
all they needed to reply was 'Ypres, 
Ypres, Hurrah!' " 



[112] 



POILU AND TOMMY 



XIV 

POILU AND TOMMY 

He informed me that he had been sta- 
tioned for some time with his regiment 
near the English troops, and there had 
been loud lamentations among the Poilus 
because they had been obliged to say good- 
bye to their English comrades. He added 
that the affection was not entirely disin- 
terested. The English comrades had ex- 
cellent marmalade and jam and other 
good things which they shared with their 
French brothers, who, whilst excellently 
fed, do not indulge in these luxuries. He 
told me a delightful tale of a French cook 
who, seeing an English soldier standing 
by, began to question him as to his par- 
ticular branch of the service, informing 
him that he himself had had an exceed- 
[115] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

ingly busy morning peeling potatoes and 
cleaning up the pots and pans. After 
considerable conversation he inquired of 
the English comrade what he did for his 
living. "Oh," replied the Englishman, "I 
get my living fairly easily ; nothing half so 
strenuous as peeling potatoes. I am just 
a colonel."!! 

The clean-shaven Tommy is the beloved 
of all France. I remember seeing one 
gallant khaki knight carrying the market 
basket of a French maiden and repaying 
himself out of her store of apples. I re- 
gret to say his pockets bulged suspi- 
ciously. Whilst at a level crossing near 
by, the old lady in charge of the gate had 
an escort of "Tommies" who urged her to 
let the train "rip." This was somewhat 
ironical in view of the fact that the top 
speed in that part of the war zone was 
probably never more than ten miles an 
hour. 

Tommy is never alone The children 
have learned that he loves their company 
and he is always surrounded by an escort 

[116] 



POILU AND TOMMY 

of youthful admirers. The children like 
to rummage in his pockets for souvenirs: 
he must spend quite a good deal of his pay 
purchasing sweets so that they may not 
be disappointed and that there may be 
something for his little friends to find. I 
remember seeing one Tommy, sitting in 
the dusty road with a large pot of mar- 
malade between his legs, dealing out 
spoonfuls with perfect justice and impar- 
tiality to a circle of youngsters. He 
speaks to them of his own little "nippers" 
at home and they in turn tell him of their 
father who is fighting, of their mother who 
now works in the fields, and of baby who 
is fearfully ignorant, does not know the 
difference between the French and the 
"Engleesch" and who insisted on calling 
the great English General who had stayed 
at their farm "Papa." It matters little 
that they cannot understand each other, 
and it does not in the least prevent them 
from holding lengthy conversations. 

I told my companion at table that 
whilst visiting one of the hospitals in 

[in] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

France I had heard how one Englishman 
had been sent into a far hospital in Pro- 
vence by mistake. He was not seriously 
injured and promptly constituted himself 
king of the ward. On arrival he insisted 
on being shaved. As no shaving brush 
was available the "piou-piou" in the next 
bed lathered him with his tooth brush. 
The French cooking did not appeal to 
him, and he grumbled continuously. 
The directress of the hospital sent her own 
cook from her chateau to cater for Mr. 
Atkins. An elaborate menu was pre- 
pared. Tommy glanced through it, or- 
dered everything to be removed, and com- 
manded tea and toast. Toast-making is 
not a French art and the chateau chef 
was obliged to remain at the hospital and 
spend his time carefully preparing the 
toast and seeing that it was served in good 
condition. When Mr. Atkins felt so dis- 
posed he would summon a piou-piou to 
give him a French lesson or else request 
the various inmates of the ward to sing 
to him. He would in turn render that 

[118] 



POILTJ AND TOMMY 

plaintive ditty, "Down by the Old Bull 
and Bush." A nurse who spoke a little 
English translated his song to the French 
soldiers. Whilst not desiring to criticise 
the rendez-vous selected by their "came- 
rade anglais," they did not consider that 
"pres d'un vieux taureau" (near an old 
bull) was a safe or desirable meeting- 
place. When I explained to the nurse 
that "The Bull and Bush" was a kind of 
cabaret she hastened from ward to ward 
to tell the men that after all the English- 
man might have selected a worse spot to 
entertain his girl. He was at once the 
joy and the despair of the whole hospital 
and the nurse had much trouble in con- 
soling the patients when "our English" 
was removed. 



[119] 



ABBREVIATED FRENCH 



XV 

ABBREVIATED FRENCH 

When Tommy indulges in the use of 
the French language he abbreviates it as 
much as possible. 

One hot summer's day driving from 
Boulogne to Fort Mahon, half way down 
a steep hill we came upon two Tommies 
endeavouring to extract a motor cycle and 
a side-car from a somewhat difficult posi- 
tion. They had side-slipped and run into 
a small tree. The cycle was on one side 
and the side-car on the other, and a steel 
rod between had been rammed right into 
the wood through the force of the collision. 

My three companions and myself en- 
deavoured to help the men to pull out the 
rod, but the united efforts of the six of 
us proved unavailing. We hailed a pass- 
ing cart and tied the reins around the 
[123] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

motor-cycle, but immediately the horse 
commenced to pull the leather of the reins 
snapped. Behind the cart walked a peas- 
ant. Only one adjective can possibly de- 
scribe him: he was decidedly "beer-y." 
He made no attempt to help but passed 
from one Tommy to the other, patting 
them on their backs, assuring them "that 
with a little good-will all would be well." 
There was a dangerous glint in the 
youngest Tommy's eye, but in the pres- 
ence of ladies he refrained from putting 
his thoughts into words. Finally, his pa- 
tience evaporating, he suddenly turned on 
the peasant and shouted at him, "Ong! 
Ong!" It took me some time to grasp 
that this was Tommy's abbreviated ver- 
sion of "Allez vous en" (Clear out). In 
any event it proved quite useless, as he 
continued to pat the Tommies affection- 
ately and to bombard them with imprac- 
ticable suggestions. 

We were joined later by three villagers, 
two gendarmes and a postman, and, all 
pulling together, we managed to extract 

[124] 



ABBREVIATED FRENCH 

the rod from the tree. A large lorry was 
passing and on to it we heaved the wreck- 
age. Up clambered the Tommies, fol- 
lowed by their unwelcome friend, who 
managed to sit on the only unbroken por- 
tion of the side-car. This was too much 
for Messrs. Atkins' equanimity. Limp 
with laughter, we watched them pass from 
sight amidst a chorus of "Ong! Ong!" fol- 
lowed by flights of oratory in the English 
tongue which do not bear repeating, but 
which were received by the peasant as ex- 
pressions of deep esteem and to which he 
replied by endeavouring to kiss the Tom- 
mies and shouting, "Vive l'Angleterre! 
All right! Hoorah!" 

Our guiding officer began to show some 
signs of anxiety to have us leave before 
ten o'clock, but the good-byes took some 
time. Presents were showered upon us, 
German dragees (shell heads and pieces 
of shrapnel), and the real French dra- 
gees, the famous sweet of Verdun. 

We crept out of the city, but unfortu- 
nately at one of the dangerous crossroads 
[125] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

our chauffeur mistook the route. A heavy 
bombardment was taking place and the 
French were replying. We were lucky 
enough to get on to the route and into 
safety before any shell fell near us. It 
appears that the Germans sj^stematically 
bombard the roads at night, hoping to 
destroy the camions bringing up the food 
for the city, fresh munitions and men. 

We slept that night at Bar-le-Duc, and 
next morning saw the various ambulances 
and hospitals which the Service de Sante 
had particularly requested me to visit. I 
was impressed by the splendid organisa- 
tion of the Red Cross even quite close to 
the firing line. 



[126] 



THE BROWN AND BLACK SONS 
OF FRANCE 



XVI 

THE BROWN AND BLACK SONS OF FRANCE 

Passing through one tent hospital an 
Algerian called out to me : "Ohe, la blonde, 
viens ici! J'ai quelque chose de beau a 
te montrer." (Come here, fair girl, I 
have something pretty to show you.) He 
was sitting up in bed, and, as I ap- 
proached, unbuttoned his bed- jacket and 
insisted on my examining the tag of his 
vest on which was written, "Leader, Lon- 
don." The vest had come in a parcel of 
goods from the London Committee of the 
French Red Cross, and I only wished that 
the angel of goodness and tenderness, who 
is the Presidente of the Croix Rouge, 
Mme. de la Panouse, and that Mr. D. H. 
Illingworth, Mr. Philip Wilkins, and all 
her able lieutenants, could have seen the 
pleasure on the face of this swarthy de- 
[129] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

fender of France. In the next bed was 
a Senegalais who endeavoured to attract 
my attention by keeping up a running 
compliment to my compatriots, my King, 
and myself. He must have chanted fifty 
times: "Vive les English, Georges, et 
toil 3 ' He continued even after I had re- 
warded him with some cigarettes. The 
Senegalais and the Algerians are really 
great children, especially when they are 
wounded. I have seen convalescent Sene- 
galais and Algerians in Paris spend hours 
in the Champs Elysees watching the en- 
tertainment at the open-air marionette 
theatre. The antics of the dolls kept them 
amused. They are admitted to the enclo- 
sure free, and there is no longer any room 
for the children who frequented the show 
in happier days. These latter form a dis- 
consolate circle on the outside, whilst the 
younger ones, who do not suffer from 
colour prejudice, scramble onto the knees 
of the black soldiers. 

The sister in charge was a true daugh- 
ter of the "Lady of the Lamp." Pro- 

[130] 




THE BROWN AND BLACK SONS OF FRANCE 



THE BROWN AND BLACK SONS OF FRANCE 

vided they are really ill, she sympathises 
with all the grumblers, but scolds them if 
they have reached the convalescent stage. 
She carries a small book in which she en- 
ters imaginary good points to those who 
have the tables by their beds tidy, and 
she pinned an invisible medal on the chest 
of a convalescent who was helping to carry 
trays of food to his comrades. She is 
indeed a General, saving men for France. 

Not a man escaped her attention, and 
as we passed through the tents she gave 
to each of her "chers enfants," black or 
white, a cheering smile or a kindly word. 
She did, however, whilst talking to us, 
omit to salute a Senegalais. Before she 
passed out of the tent he commenced to 
call after her, <c To% pas gentille aujourd'- 
hwi, moi battre toi" (You are not good 
to me to-day ; me beat you. ) This, it ap- 
pears, is his little joke — he will never beat 
any one again, since he lost both his arms 
when his trench was blown up by a land 
mine. 

It was at Triancourt that I first saw 
[131] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

in operation the motor-cars that had been 
sent out fitted with bath tubs for the 
troops, and also a very fine car fitted up 
by the London Committee of the French 
Red Cross as a moving dental hospital. 

I regret to add that a "Poilu" near by 
disrespectfully referred to it as "another 
of the horrors of war," adding that in 
times of peace there was some kind of 
personal liberty, whereas now "a man 
could not have toothache without being 
forced to have it ended, and that there 
was no possibility of escaping a dentist 
who hunted you down by motor." 

It was suggested that as I had had a 
touch of toothache the night before, I 
might take my place in the chair and give 
an example of British pluck to the assem- 
bled "Poilus." I hastened to impress on 
the surgeon that I hated notoriety and 
would prefer to remain modestly in the 
background. I even pushed aside with 
scorn the proffered bribe of six "bosche," 
buttons, assuring the man that "I would 
keep my toothache as a souvenir." 

[132] 



THE BROWN AND BLACK SONS OF FRANCE 

At one of the hospitals beside the bed 
of a dying man sat a little old man writ- 
ing letters. They told me that before the 
war he had owned the most flourishing 
wine shop in the village. He had fled be- 
fore the approach of the German troops, 
but later returned to his village and in- 
stalled himself in the hospital as scribe. 
He wrote from morning until night, and, 
watching him stretching his lean old 
hands, I asked him if he suffered much 
pain from writers' cramp. He looked at 
me almost reproachfully before answer- 
ing, "Madamoiselle, it is the least I can 
do for my country; besides my pain is so 
slight and that of the comrades so great. 
I am proud, indeed proud, that at sixty- 
seven years of age I am not useless." 

I was shown a copy of the last letter 
dictated by a young French officer, and 
I asked to be allowed to copy it — it was 
indeed a letter of a "chic" type. 

Chers Parrain et Marraine, 

Je vous ecris a vous pour ne pas tuer Maman 
qu'un pareil coup surprendrait trop. 
[133] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

J'ai ete blesse le . . . devant. . . . J'ai deux 
blessures hideuses et je n'en aurai pas pour bien 
longtemps. Les majors ne me le cachent merae 
pas. 

Je pars sans regret avec la conscience d'avoir 
fait mon devoir. 

Prevenez done mes parents le mieux que vous 
pourrez ; qu'ils ne cherchent pas a venir, ils n'en 
auraient pas le temps. 

Adieu vous tous que j'aimais. 

VIVE LA FRANCE! 

(Dear Godfather and Godmother, 

I am writing to you so as not to kill Mother, 
whom such a shock would surprise too much. I 
was wounded on the . . . at . . . I have two 
terrible wounds and I cannot last long. The 
surgeons do not even attempt to conceal this 
from me. I go without regret, with the con- 
sciousness of having done my duty. Kindly 
break the news to my parents the best way you 
can; they should not attempt to come because 
they would not have time to reach me before the 
end. 

Farewell to all you whom I have loved. 

LONG LIVE FRANCE !) 

Whilst loving his relatives tenderly, the 
last thought of the dying Frenchman is 
for his country. Each one dies as a hero, 

[134] 



THE BROWN AND BLACK SONS OF FRANCE 

yet not one realises it. It would be im- 
possible to show greater simplicity; they 
salute the flag for the last time and that 
is all. 



[135] 



AT GENERAL NIVELLE'S 
HEADQUARTERS 



XVII 

AT GENERAL NIVELLE's HEADQUARTERS 

From Triancourt we went straight to 
the Headquarters of General Nivelle. 
They had just brought him the maps rec- 
tified to mark the French advance. The 
advance had been made whilst we were 
standing on the terrace at Verdun the 
night before. We had seen the rockets 
sent up, requesting a te Ur de barrage" 
(curtain of fire). The 75 's had replied 
at once and the French had been able to 
carry out the operation. 

Good news had also come in from the 
Somme, and General Nivelle did not hesi- 
tate to express his admiration for the 
British soldiers. 

He said that there was no need to praise 
the first troops sent by Britain to France, 
every one knew their value, but it should 
[139] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

be a great satisfaction to Britain to find 
that the new army was living up to the 
traditions of the old army. 

He added: "We can describe the new 
Army of Britain in two words: f (?a mord 3 
— it bites." 

The Father of his own men, it is not 
surprising that General Nivelle finds a 
warm comer in his heart for the British 
Tommy, since his Mother was an Eng- 
lishwoman. 

At lunch General Nivelle and the mem- 
bers of his staff asked many questions as 
to the work of the Scottish Women's Hos- 
pitals. I told them that what appealed 
to us most in our French patients was the 
perfect discipline and the gratitude of the 
men. We are all women in the Hospi- 
tals, and the men might take advantage of 
this fact to show want of discipline, but 
we never had to complain of lack of obedi- 
ence. These soldiers of France may some 
of them before the war have been just 
rough peasants, eating, drinking, and 
sleeping; even having thoughts not akin 

[140] 




SCOTTISH WOMEN SURGEONS AT WORK AT 
THE ABBAYE DE ROYAUMONT, FRANCE 



AT GENERAL NIVELLE S HEADQUARTERS 

to knighthood, but now, through the or- 
deal of blood and fire, each one of them 
has won his spurs and come out a chival- 
rous knight, and they bring their chivalry 
right into the hospitals with them. We 
had also learned to love them for their 
kindness to one another. When new 
wounded are brought in and the lights are 
low in the hospital wards, cautiously 
watching if the Nurse is looking (luckily 
Nurses have a way of not seeing every- 
thing) , one of the convalescents will creep 
from his bed to the side of the new arrival 
and ask the inevitable question: "D'oit 
viens-tu?" (Where do you come from?) 
"I come from Toulouse," replies the man. 
"Ah," says the enquirer, "my wife's 
Grandmother had a cousin who lived near 
Toulouse." That is quite a sufficient basis 
for a friendship. The convalescent sits by 
the bedside of his new comrade, holding 
the man's hand, whilst his wounds are 
being dressed, telling him he knows of the 
pain, that he, too, has suffered, and that 
soon all will be well. 
[141] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

Lions to fight, ever ready to answer to 
the call of the defence of their country, 
yet these men of France are tender and 
gentle. In one hospital through which I 
passed there was a baby. It was a mili- 
tary hospital, and no civilian had any right 
there, but the medical officers who in- 
spected the hospital were remarkably 
blind — none of them could ever see the 
baby. One of the soldiers passing through 
a bombarded village saw a little body lying 
in the mud, and although he believed the 
child to be dead he stooped down and 
picked it up. At the evacuating station 
the baby and the soldier were sent to the 
hospital together; the doctors operated 
upon the baby and took a piece of shrap- 
nel from its back, and, once well and 
strong, it constituted itself lord and mas- 
ter and king of all it surveyed. When it 
woke in the morning it would call "Papa" 
and twenty fathers answered to its call. 
All the pent-up love of the men for their 
own little ones from whom they had been 
parted for so long they lavished on the 

[142] 




THE HOSPITAL " KING " 



AT GENERAL NIVELLE's HEADQUARTERS 

tiny stranger, but all his affection and his 
whole heart belonged to the rough miner 
soldier who had brought him in. As the 
shadows fell one saw the man walking 
up and down the ward with the child in 
his arms, crooning the "Marseillaise" until 
the tired little eyes closed. He had ob- 
tained permission from the authorities to 
adopt the child as the parents could not 
be found, and remarked humorously: 
"Mademoiselle, it is so convenient to have 
a family without the trouble of being mar- 
ried!" 

What we must remember is that the 
rough soldier, himself blinded with blood 
and mud, uncertain whether he could ever 
reach a point of safety, yet had time to 
stoop and pick that little flower of France 
and save it from being crushed beneath 
the cannon wheels. I told General Nivelle 
thftt the hospital staff intended to keep 
the child for the soldier until the end of 
the war, and we all hoped that he might 
grow up to the glory of France and to the 
[143] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VHERDUN 

eternal honour of the tender-hearted fight- 
er who had rescued him. 

After lunch we stood for some time 
watching the unending stream of ca/mions 
proceeding into Verdun. I believe it has 
been stated that on the average one passed 
through the village every fifteen seconds, 
and that there are something like twelve 
thousand motor vehicles used in the de- 
fence of Verdun. The splendid condition 
of the roads and the absence of all con- 
fusion in the handling of this immense 
volume of traffic are a great tribute to the 
organising genius of the chiefs of the 
French Army. 

We left General Nivelle as Gene±al 
Petain predicted we should find him — 
smiling. 



[144] 



RHEIMS 



XVIII 



RHEIMS 



We slept that night at Epernay, in the 
heart of the Champagne district. The 
soil of France is doing its best to keep the 
vines in perfect condition and to provide 
a good vintage to be drunk later to cele- 
brate the victory of France and her Allies. 
The keeping of the roads in good condi- 
tion is necessary for the rapid carrying 
out of operations on the Front, and a 
"marmite" hole is promptly filled if by 
a lucky shot the German batteries happen 
to tear up the roadway. We were pro- 
ceeding casually along one road when a 
young officer rode up to us and told us to 
put on speed because we were under fire 
from a German battery which daily landed 
one or two shells in that particular portion 
of the roadway. It is wonderful how 
[147] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

obedient one becomes at times!!! We 
promptly proceeded to hasten!!! After 
visiting General Debeney and obtaining 
from him the necessary authorisation and 
an officer escort, we entered Rheims. 

The cathedral is now the home of 
pigeons, and as they fly in and out of the 
blackened window-frames small pieces of 
the stained glass tinkle down on to the 
floor. The custodian of the cathedral told 
us that during the night of terror the Ger- 
man wounded, lying in the cathedral, not 
realising the strength and beauty of the 
French character under adversity, feared, 
seeing the cathedral in flames, that the 
populace might wreak vengeance on them, 
and that it was exceedingly difficult to 
get them to leave the cathedral. Many 
of the prisoners fled into corners and hid, 
and some of them even penetrated into the 
palace of the Archbishop, which was in 
flames. All the world knows and admires 
the bravery of the cure of the cathedral, 
M. Landrieux, who took upon himself the 
defence of the prisoners, for fear insults 

[148] 



RHEIMS 



might be hurled at them. He knowingly 
risked his life, but when, next day, some 
of his confreres endeavoured to praise him 
he replied: "My friends, I never before 
realised how easy it was to die." 

One of the churches in the city was 
heavily draped in black, and I asked the 
sacristan if they had prepared for the 
funeral of a prominent citizen. He told 
me that they were that day bringing home 
the body of a young man of high birth of 
the neighbourhood, but that it was not for 
him that the church was decked in mourn- 
ing. The draperies had hung there since 
August, 1914— "Since every son of 
Rheims who is brought home is as noble 
as the one who comes to-day, and alas! 
nearly every day brings us one of our 
children." 

We lunched in the hotel before the 
cathedral, where each shell hole has an 
ordinary white label stuck beside it with 
the date. The landlord remarked: "If 
you sit here long enough, and have the 
good luck to be in some safe part of the 
[149] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

building, you may be able to go and stick 
a label on a hole yourself." 

After lunch we went out to the Chateau 
Polignac. To a stranger it would appear 
to be almost entirely destroyed, but when 
M. de Polignac visited it recently he sim- 
ply remarked that it was "less spoilt than 
he had imagined." This was just one 
other example of the thousands one meets 
daily of the spirit of noble and peasant, 
" de ne pas s'en faire" but to keep only 
before them the one idea, Victory for 
France, no matter what may be the cost. 

We went later to call on the "75," chez 
elle. Madame was in a particularly com- 
fortable home which had been prepared 
for her and where she was safe from the 
inquisitive eyes of the Taubes. The men 
of the battery were sitting round their 
guns, singing a somewhat lengthy ditty, 
each verse ending with a declamation and 
a description of the beauty of "la belle 
Suzanne." I asked them to whom Su- 
zanne belonged and where the fair damsel 
resided. "Oh," they replied, "we have no 

[150] 




ONE OF THE WARDS AT THE SCOTTISH WOMEN 's HOSPITAL, 
ROYAUMONT 



RHEIMS 

time to think of damsels called 'Suzanne' 
now. This is our Suzanne," and the 
speaker affectionately gave an extra rub 
with his coat sleeve to the barrel of the 
"75." By a wonderful system of trench 
work it is possible for the gunners, in case 
of necessity, to take refuge in the cham- 
pagne vaults in the surrounding district, 
and it is in the champagne vaults that the 
children go daily to school, with their little 
gas masks hanging in bags on their arms. 
It appears that at first the tiny ones were 
frightened of the masks, but they soon 
asked, like their elders, to be also given 
a sack, and now one and all have learnt 
at the least alarm to put on their masks. 
There is no need to tell the children to 
hurry home. They realise that it is not 
wise to loiter in the streets for fear of the 
whistling shells. They are remarkably 
plucky, these small men and women of 
France. 

During one furious bombardment the 
children were safe in the vaults, but one 
small citizen began to cry bitterly. He 
[151] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

was reproached by his comrades for cow- 
ardice, but he replied indignantly: "I 
fear nothing for myself. I am safe here, 
but there is no cellar to our house, and 
oh, what will happen to the little mother?" 
The teacher reassured him by telling him 
that his mother would certainly take 
refuge in somebody's else cellar. 

On leaving Rheims we passed through 
various small hamlets where the houses 
had been entirely destroyed, and which 
now had the appearance of native villages, 
as the soldiers had managed to place 
thatched roofs on any place which had any 
semblance of walls standing. 

At Villars Coterets the Guard Cham- 
petre sounded the "Gare a Vous!" Four 
Taubes were passing overhead, so we took 
refuge in the hotel for tea. The enemy 
did no damage in that particular village, 
but in the next village of Crepy-en-Valois 
a bomb killed one child and injured five 
women. 



[152] 



AT THE HEADQUARTERS OF 
THE GENERALISSIMO 



XIX 

AT THE HEADQUARTERS OF THE 
GENERALISSIMO 

At his Headquarters next morning I 
had the honour of being received by Gen- 
eralissimo Joffre and telling him of the 
admiration and respect which we felt for 
him and for the magnificent fighting spirit 
of the troops under his able command. He 
replied modestly by speaking of the Brit- 
ish army. He referred to the offensive on 
the Somme, and said, "You may well be 
proud of your young soldiers; they are 
excellent soldiers, much superior to the 
Germans in every way, a most admirable 
infantry; they attack the Germans hand 
to hand with grenades or with the bayonet 
and push them back everywhere ; the Ger- 
mans have been absolutely stupefied to 
find such troops before them." The Gen- 
[155] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

eral then paid a tribute to the Canadian 
and Australian troops and told me that 
that day the Australians had taken new 
territory, adding, "And not only have they 
taken it, but, like their British and Cana- 
dian brothers, what they take they will 
hold." 

I explained to General Joffre that, 
whilst I was not collecting autographs, I 
had with me the menu of the dinner in 
the Citadel at Verdun and that it would 
give me great pleasure to have his name 
added to the signatures already on that 
menu. All the signatures were on one 
side, so I turned the menu over in order 
to offer him a clear space, but he turned 
it back again, saying, "Please let me sign 
on this side. I find myself in good com- 
pany with the defenders of Verdun." 

At departing he said to me, "We may 
all be happy now since certainly we are 
on the right side of the hill." ("Nous 
sommes sur la bonne pente") 

In case this little story should fall into 
the hands of any woman who has spent 

[156] 



HEADQUARTERS OF THE GENERALISSIMO 

her time working for the men at the Front, 
I would like to tell her the great pleasure 
it is to them to receive parcels, no matter 
what they contain. Fraternity and Equal- 
ity reign supreme in the trenches, and the 
man counts himself happy who receives a 
little more than the others, since he has 
the joy and the pleasure of sharing his 
store of good things with his comrades. 
There is seldom a request made to the 
French behind the lines that they do not 
attempt to fulfil. I remember last win- 
ter, passing through a town in the prov- 
inces, I noticed that the elderly men ap- 
peared to be scantily clad in spite of the 
bitterness of the weather. It appeared 
that the call had gone forth for fur coats 
for the troops, and all the worthy citizens 
of the town forwarded to the trenches 
their caracul coats. Only those who are 
well acquainted with French provincial 
life can know what it means to them to 
part with these signs of opulence and com- 
mercial success. 

It is perhaps in the Post Offices that 
[157] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

you find yourself nearest to the heart of 
"France behind the lines." 

One morning I endeavoured to send a 
parcel to a French soldier. I took my 
place in a long line of waiting women 
bound on the same errand. A white-haired 
woman before me gave the Post Office 
Clerk infinite trouble. They are not re- 
nowned for their patience and I marvelled 
at his gentleness until he explained. "Her 
son died five weeks ago, but she still con- 
tinues to send him parcels." 

To another old lady he pointed out that 
she had written two numbers on the par- 
cel. "You don't want two numbers, 
Mother. Which is your boy's number? 
Tell me and I will strike out the other." 
"Leave them both," she answered. "Who 
knows whether my dear lad will be there 
to receive the parcel. If he is not, I want 
it to go to some other Mother's son." 

Affection means much to these men 
who are suffering, and they respond at 
once to any sympathy shown to them. 
One man informed us with pride that 

[158] 



HEADQUARTERS OF THE GENERALISSIMO 

when he left his native village he was 
"decked like an altar of the Blessed Virgin 
on the first of May." In other words, 
covered with flowers. 

There are but few lonely soldiers now, 
since those who have no families to write 
to them receive letters and parcels from 
the Godmothers who have adopted them. 
The men anxiously await the news of 
their adopted relatives and spend hours 
writing replies. They love to receive let- 
ters, but, needless to say, a parcel is even 
more welcome. 

I remember seeing one man writing 
page after page. I suggested to him that 
he must have a particularly charming 
Godmother. "Mademoiselle," he replied, 
"I have no time for a Godmother since 
I myself am a Godfather." He then ex- 
plained that far away in his village there 
was a young assistant in his shop, "And 
God knows the boy loves France, but both 
his lungs are touched, so they won't take 
him, but I write and tell him that the 
good God has given me strength for two, 
[159] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

that I fight for him and for myself, and 
that we are both doing well for France." 
I went back in imagination to the village. 
I could see the glint in the boy's eyes, 
realised how the blood pulsed quicker 
through his veins at the sight of, not the 
personal pronoun "I" in the singular, 
but the plural "We are doing well for 
France." For one glorious moment he was 
part of the hosts of France and in spirit 
serving his Motherland. It is that spirit 
of the French nation that their enemies 
will never understand. 

On one occasion a young German offi- 
cer, covered with mud from head to foot, 
was brought before one of the French 
Generals. He had been taken fighting 
cleanly, and the General was anxious to 
show him kindness. He asked him if he 
would not prefer to cleanse himself be- 
fore examination. The young German 
drew himself up and replied: "Look at 
me, General. I am covered from head to 
foot with mud, and that mud is the soil 
of France — you will never possess as much 

[160] 



HEADQUARTERS OF THE GENERALISSIMO 

soil in Germany." The General turned 
to him with that gentle courtesy which 
marks the higher commands in France and 
answered : "Monsieur, we may never pos- 
sess as much soil in Germany, but there is 
something that you will never possess, 
and, until you conquer it, you cannot van- 
quish France, and that is the spirit of the 
French people." 

The French find it difficult to under- 
stand the arrogance which appears in- 
grained in the German character and 
which existed before the War. 

I read once that in the guests' book of 
a French hotel a Teutonic visitor wrote: 

"L'Allemagne est la premiere nation du 
monde." 

The next French visitor merely added: 

"Yes, 'Allemagne is the first country of the 
world' if we take them in alphabetical order." 



[161] 



TO THE GLORY OF THE 
WOMEN OF FRANCE 



XX 

TO THE GLORY OF THE WOMEN OF FRANCE 

I left the war zone with an increased 
respect, if this were possible, for the men 
of France. They have altered their uni- 
forms, but the spirit is unchanged. They 
are no longer in the red and blue of the 
old days, but in shades of green, grey and 
blue, colours blending to form one mighty 
ocean — wave on wave of patriotism — 
beating against and wearing down the 
rocks of military preparedness of forty 
years, and as no man has yet been able 
to say to the Ocean stop, so no man shall 
cry "Halt" to the Armies of France. 

I have spoken much of the men of 
France, but the women have also earned 
our respect — those splendid peasant 
women, who even in times of peace 
worked, and now carry a double burden 
[165] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

on their shoulders — the middle-class 
women, endeavouring to keep together the 
little business built up by the man with 
years of toil, stinting themselves to save 
five francs to send a parcel to the man at 
the Front that he may not suspect that 
there is not still every comfort in the little 
homestead — the noble women of France, 
who in past years could not be seen 
before noon, since my lady was at her 
toilette, and who can be seen now, their 
hands scratched and bleeding, kneeling on 
the floors of the hospitals scrubbing, proud 
and happy to take their part in national 
service. The men owe much of their cour- 
age to the attitude of the women who stand 
behind them, turning their tears to smiles 
to urge their men to even greater deeds of 
heroism. 

In one of our hospitals was a young lad 
of seventeen who had managed to enlist 
as an "engage volontaire" by lying as to 
his age. His old Mother came to visit 
him, and she told me he was the last of 
her three sons ; the two elder ones had died 

[166] 



TO THE GLORY OF THE WOMEN OF FRANCE 

the first week of the war at Pont-Mous- 
son, and her little home had been burned 
to the ground. The boy had spent his 
time inventing new and terrible methods 
of dealing with the enemy, but with his 
Mother he became a child again and ten- 
derly patted the old face. Seeing the lad 
in his Mother's arms, and forgetting for 
one moment the spirit of the French na- 
tion, I asked her if she would not be glad 
if her boy was so wounded that she might 
take him home. She was only an old peas- 
ant woman, but her eyes flashed, her 
cheeks flushed with anger and turning to 
me she said, "Mademoiselle, how dare you 
say such a thing to me? If all the 
Mothers, Wives and Sweethearts thought 
as you, what would happen to the coun- 
try? Gustave has only one thing to do, 
get well quickly and fight for Mother 
France." 

Because these women of France have 

sent their men forth to die, eyes dry, with 

stiff* lips and head erect, do not think that 

they do not mourn for them. When night 

[167] 



THE WHITE ROAD TO VERDUN 

casts her kindly mantle of darkness over 
all, when they are hidden from the eyes 
of the world, it is then that the proud 
heads droop and are bent upon their arms, 
as the women cry out in the bitterness of 
their souls for the men who have gone 
from them. Yet they realise that behind 
them stands the greatest Mother of all, 
Mother France, who sees coming towards 
her, from her frontiers, line on line of am- 
bulances with their burden of suffering 
humanity, yet watches along other routes 
her sons going forth in thousands, laugh- 
ter in their eyes, songs on their lips, ready 
and willing to die for her. France draws 
around her her tattered and bloodstained 
robe, yet what matters the outer raiment? 
Behind it shines forth her glorious, exul- 
tant soul, and she lifts up her head re- 
joicing and proclaims to the world that 
when she appealed man, woman, and child 
— the whole of the French nation — an- 
swered to her call. 

THE END 

[168] 



















ADDITIONAL SIGNATURES OF THE DEFENDERS(J f 



r 



o^(^^<^^^0 




on* *»T* /^^^ 







OF VERDUN AT THE DINNER TO MISS BURKE 



